Been visiting Bill's favourite blogs

Now I want to copy everything they're doing!

Like Solonor's end-of-year recap.

Or Blog from a Broad's latest meme. (I can't get the link, but it's today's date.)

Thanks to Key of D, I have discovered Rob Paravonian. (Happy belated Birthday, if you ever come my way.)

Such smart and clever folks!
Okay fine, I won't hate all people. Just the stupid jerky ones.

The Invisible Woman...

What is with people these days?

It seems to me as though everywhere I go, people are trying to walk through me. It's as if I don't exist, or perhaps everyone thinks that we're still in the forties and black folk should willingly contort themselves and hop into the gutters to make way for the white man and his woman walking by. I mean, WTF?

You know what I'm talking about: for example, when you're trying to get off the metro (or subway if you're not from Montreal) and you've got seven jokers trying to get on as you're getting out. Or how about when you're walking on the sidewalk and three friends are walking abreast towards you and taking up the entire sidewalk, but they have no intention of making way for you to pass by, or they might exert themselves to create a six-inch space for you to squeeze through. I mean come on, I'm thinner, but not that much thinner.

And even though I know it's wrong, I've stopped contorting myself to make way for ignorant people. Since I've improved my eating and exercise habits, I'm actually full of happy endorphins and am generally in a really good mood almost all of the time. But this is just one of those things that sparks mindless rage in me and I go from 0-60 in seconds. What's more, now that I have greater muscle mass and density, Tamara+momentum=a considerable force indeed. And people who try to walk through me go flying. And woe betide the person who even begins to get a little bit shirty with me about it. Righteous anger trumps carelessness and insouciance every time.

Maybe it's just that people are more and more self-absorbed, or have an inflated sense of entitlement. I mean, hey I can appreciate sometimes wishing that you were the only one on the sidewalk or getting on or off the metro, but wishing doesn't make it so. Ignoring me doesn't make me disappear. I should be the bigger person, I should be humble, because in the grand scheme of things, what does it matter? Who do I think I am, anyway? But when it comes down to it, I'm just sick of being made to feel invisible, or as though I don't have a right to be here. Because I am a person with value, as much (or as little, depending on how you look at it) as anyone else. I don't want your space, I don't need all space or even think that your space belongs to me. I just want my space. I'm happy to invite you in, but no one else is entitled to it. Shoot, I'm not even asking for a lot of it. Just enough room to move, room to breathe.

Argh, sometimes misanthropy just makes sense.

For the love of dairy products...

Food is so fan-frickin-tastic! Sure, my tummy is like a basketball stuffed full of bread and sugar and fat, but it's just so doggone good! Even if I am a little burpy and farty right now. Dairy, as good as it is, has never been good to me.

Meh, I can always train like a marine tomorrow. (And you KNOW that I will. That crazy Loren has given me a new program that I guarantee, if it doesn't prove to be the death of me, will give me the physiology of a 15-year-old. Oh yes, I'm determined to beat his score on the Fit Test. Heh heh. And when I do, I will gloat. Loudly and often. I will not be a gracious victor. I'm just warning you all now. Judge me if you will! It's just because he gloats about having a 16-year-old body and is shaped like the letter Y. I think it will be good for him to be beaten by a girl. Yeah, I want to help to develop his character...that's my motivation, uh-huh, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. )

But darlings, believe me, I am going to earn it. I need memories of sugar, chocolate, french fries, red beans and rice and pie to comfort me through the long weeks and months of brown rice, chicken breasts, egg whites, and broccoli ahead.

Mmmmm....fat. *drool!*

I'm at my dad's place eating pastries and drinking coffee and Courvoisier and listening to the Dreamgirls soundtrack. We are all being as loud and sassy as we know how to be, and it's oodles of fun. I'm storing up a lot of memories to tide me over in the upcoming weeks, because things are going to get hairy.

So there is a slight chance that I may tend to be neglectful in the upcoming weeks. Please don't get mad at me, I know it's not fair, but you may have to be the one to call me more times than I will call you. But I will do my best to try to keep my work and social life balanced. A little kick in the shin from time to time will remind me to keep my head up and looking around me instead of just the row that I'm ploughing. If you catch my drift.

Anyway. Loving you!
Merry Christmas!

Goodbye James Brown. You may have ended up crazy, but you were still the greatest.

I'm in Niagara Falls

In case you were looking for me.

But if some dude in a suit and sunglasses bearing a suspicious resemblance to Hugo Weaving is asking about me, you don't know where I am.

(He's probably from VISA.)

It must be said...

My baby sister is hella awesome. I've been digging her more and more these days.

(Of course that's one of her expressions, because she's far more hip than me. In fact, now that she too has a job, we must shop together. Maybe she can teach me to look like a girl. That would be swell. She has the eye for fashion. In fact, it was she who turned me on to the glories of the fuggers, whose snarkiness I can no longer live without. They are my daily dose of eeeevillll.)

Angela, I salute you.

I know, Momma's been neglectful...sorry.

Anyhoo, I'm just popping in to share a thing or two with you before I get back to working like a crazy woman.

First of all, yesterday, I ate horse meat for the first time. (Yes, willingly.) And it's funny, but I felt absolutely no pangs about it. I was never one of those girls who, growing up, dreamed of having a pony. Somehow, at eleven, I never understood that desire and thought that it was a ridiculously bourgeois one. Besides, Who would look after it? My smurf village bedroom was always in a mess of post-apocalyptic proportions. No sir, I wasn't going to be shoveling any equine dookie.

Second of all, I've to date, lost 25 pounds. Go, me! I have gorgeous abs, no love handles in sight. (Of course, I probably look better this time around since I'm not depressed like I was last year and smoking cigarettes on the sly. I hear tell smokers carry more abdominal fat than non-smokers.) Anyway, not far to go until I reach my goal. Yeah! And I'm perfectly healthy, not starving or anything, have no fear. I eat every two hours. It's just that I train like a marine. I almost look like that picture of Alicia Marie. In fifteen pounds, I totally will. I've figured out how people who purportedly take fat-burners and lose 25 pounds in 6 weeks are doing it, and it's not with those useless pills, let me tell you. I look like a before and after picture. It's fun.

More news!

I have been cast in a role for which I didn't even audition! Mella! Mella! This year's school tour for BTW (http://www.blacktheatreworkshop.ca/) will be featuring yours truly! I'm not playing Mella, I'm playing the goddess. Which is awesome. Even though that will make it job number 5 as of January, I can't help it! If you offer me a role that doesn't require me to play a stereotype like maid, single mom, crack whore, or spunky, wisecracking girfriend/sidekick, I'm going to move mountains to take it.

For the first time ever, I'm being offered roles based on my reputation for work. I mean, this director had seen me in previous shows, and wanted me all along. I didn't audition because I figured, shoot, I'll be busy, and I should give other people a chance to do stuff. But they were so excited when I said I'd do it, and they were willing to accomodate my schedule too!And suffice to say that other things are on the horizon too, but it's too soon to talk about it.

And this darlings, has inspired me. I've decided that in February, I'm going to start shopping for an agent. I think I'd like to do film, tv, commercial, voice and print ad work if I can. As for theatre, I figure I'll do auditions, but I'll find that stuff more as it comes on my own I think. I'd rather go by reputation and working with the people I know and like on projects that I believe in. Theatre is my passion, and that's something I want to remain pure, as naive and idealistic as that may sound. I wouldn't just do anything to be able to work.

For the other acting stuff, in the same way as I am about music and singing, I can be pragmatic about myself as a performer. I'm not particularly competitive about being out there as an actress, so much as I'd like to make a fairly decent living at it so that I can just teach at BTW without stressing and without having to work 65+ hour weeks. I'd like to be a more experienced actor so that I can be a better teacher.

In truth, I've been scared about the prospect of having an agent and getting out there in the workforce in the past because I didn't want to be pigeonholed into stereotypes and images that I feel are derogatory to black women. Also because I always felt too fat and ugly to ever get any work, but that's just ridiculous. I don't have to be pretty. I just have to be good at what I do. And I am good at it. And what I don't know now, I'll learn quickly. I just abhor rejection, and that's what awaits me once I get into that whole hustling for auditions and whatnot. Well, after the debacle that was my marriage, if that didn't kill me, nothing else will.

Anyhoo. Enough hosing around. Back to work.
Ciao, Bébés!

A Couple of Things I've Noticed Lately...

There are couples making out in public everywhere.

A song with handclapping or finger popping is sure to be a hit (in my books anyway).

Chocolate always helps.

Somehow, crazy as it seems now...

I thought I'd be having more free time around now.
Hm.

I'll check in with you soon dahlings. Loving you! YouthWorks outcome is past, very positive feedback, and yet somehow my work is not yet done. Oh well.

*m'wah!*

Yark!

How gross is the weather today?

I tell ya...

There's nothing like a good, strenuous workout to process all your anxiety/anger/frustration. Yes sir, I think I'm out of crisis mode (knock on wood) and am now getting back to myself again. It's easier to bounce back these days than it has been in the past, which is, I think a good thing.

What might I be anxious about? Many plates that I am spinning at once, and some of them are getting dropped. I'm having a hard time balancing all of my jobs. I keep looking for the kind of employment that might bring my weekly schedule down from 65 to something like 40 hours. My first interview for Vanier went well, but it's looking like I'd be stepping into a tricky political situation, and I just want to teach theatre. I dunno. We'll see how things go when I meet the hiring committee in the new year.

I wish I could get the kind of funding for YouthWorks that it needs. And to tell the truth, I kind of wish I didn't have to be the Program Director sometimes. I don't like all the administrative worries, staffing responsibilities and stuff. I don't think I'm particularly good or efficient at it. (Don't tell that to any prospective employers!) I like designing and conducting curriculum best. But hey, I do love the job and I wish I could do something great with it. I wish I was better equipped (read:educated/trained) to make it into the kind of program I know it can be.

And why am I not doing more work as an actress? Speaking of which, why don't I get an agent? I seriously need to look into that one of these days, to weigh whether or not it's worth it to have one or not.

I'm worried about my dad out there in Lagos. It's not a safe place to be. I wish he was home right now. I appreciate that he's gotta get the work thing on a lock (do I ever! I've realized that when it comes to my attitude about work, I'm totally my father's daughter.) but I wish he could do it in a safer context.

Also, I feel that I'm neglectful of my friends and family. I'm not keeping up with all of them the way I want to. Sigh. I know that I'm not there for all of them the way they would like and sometimes need me to be. If you're one of those friends reading this, I'm really sorry! Be patient with me, when things slow down with YouthWorks next week, maybe we can hang out.

But it's more likely that I'll just increase my working out, because it's the Christmas season and I have three shows coming up that I need to look good for. (Well, I know I look good, but I mean, that I need to be thinner to do them because of the clothes we wear) Wanna train with me at the gym? I've really gotten so good! And It's always better to train with someone than to train alone. Over the past three weeks I've lost 19 pounds, 6% body fat, and 10.5 inches. Not bad. And to tell the truth, I only started to truly be disciplined about my eating about a week ago. I'm talking about, no binges, no cheats, nothing, I've stayed on track with eating because I think I've found a good balance of discipline without deprivation.
Even though I pulled my hamstring earlier this week, I was good about resting it, but still finding a way to stay active and I am getting to the point where I think I'll be able to train it this weekend. All week I struggled with bloating and hitting a weight-loss plateau, but by drinking lots of water, eating right and training smart, I've broken through it and hopefully am on my way back to a weight that doesn't destroy my lower back or knees. Anyway.

Also, I'm feeling kinda lonely these days for male companionship. For those of you with delicate sensibilities I won't put too fine a point on it but the way I'm feeling is that, even though things were hardly always rosy with my ex-husband, my eyes were opened to the glories of some of the residual perks of being in a serious relationship, and now I'm vexed that I can't have it anymore. That's all I'll say about that for now. I don't know what I'm going to do about it. Actually, in the absence of opportunity there's nothing I can do about it, anyway.

Bleh, I'm too tired to be an entertaining, clever, insightful or witty writer today. I haven't been sleeping well lately for some reason. (Oh, that might be the anxiety thing.) For example right now, I'd love to sleep, but I've got a workshop thing to go to for work...something to do with fundraising. Which would alleviate one of the stresses I've got about BTW, so it's a good thing.

Anyway, I gotta go. Might sleep, might not. Mmph, probably not, can't afford to. Well, I'm off. Laters!

Check it OUT!

Some changes to the blog

I've gotten fed up with two of the webcomics I've been reading. And so they got the chop. They just aren't living up to their promise. I'm giving the third candidate two more weeks to win me back, and if not, that one's going too. I've just discovered Bird and Worm, and what's more, I think I actually don't hate it!

If you're reading some good comix these days, let a sister know, wouldja?

Forget Justin Timberlake

I'm bringing sexyback.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not hating on Justin, even though he exposes Janet's goodies to the free world at the SuperBowl and somehow she gets all the flack for it. No, any young man who digs women in their 30's is always gonna be alright in my books.

But my point is, since I started my new training regimen a week and a half ago, I've lost 13 pounds. Granted, we all know that most of that is water, but still. It's awesome. My lower back and my knees will thank me, I'm sure. And I eat. A lot. And often. For example, I had french fries yesterday. Not lapsing into Eating Disorderland (down the street from Disneyland?), it's just the by-product of the radical effects of a drastic change to my exercise regimen. Man, I've gotta switch it up more often...

Anyway. I just realized my 150th post went by completely unrecognized and uncelebrated. Thanks pals, for sticking around all this time. Cheers!

Also, I'd like to take this opportunity to put out a general request among members of my family (this also includes the honorary members, and you know who you are) to contribute to creating a 2007 Tamara's Family Demotivators calendar. You can either create a DIY demotivator at Despair.com (see quick link on the sidebar) and send me your link, or email me what you want and I'll fix it up for you. All contributors will get their very own colour copy of the finished calendar! My last demotivator was about dieting, who knows what my next one will be about...

Dreamgirls!

I saw a preview screening of this movie last night, and although I am the first person to admit that stage musicals adapted for the screen have their share of flaws, this was nonetheless a really fine piece of work. Only one or two instances of sung instead of spoken dialogue, which keeps the cheese factor way down, surprisingly enough, Beyoncé was not the weakest link as I anticipated (that turned out to be Eddie Murphy), and visually and musically, it was sweet. Lovely costumes and choreography.

I really think you'll like it when you see it. http://www.dreamgirlsmovie.com/

And darlings, I must say that Jennifer Hudson is such a star. When she sang, I felt the spirit, and I'm not even kidding or trying to be witty. That young woman moved me deeply. I cried unashamedly whenever she sang. And what's more, I think that as an actor, she is not slick at all or anything, but rather she is just completely and utterly raw, artless. She's like clear glass that you can see right through to her soul. And did I ever feel her pain about being the "big girl" in the group. She clean broke my heart. Loved it.

I hope the idiots who voted her off of American Idol feel like fools (but if you replace "fools" with some kind of expletive paired with some random part of the human anatomy, you're a lot closer to the term that's truly in my mind). She totally blew Beyoncé out of the water vocally, which I know was intended for the purposes of the story, but she really outshone her. To be fair though, Beyoncé has one truly spectacular solo towards the end, that made me cry too. But a lot of that has to do with the awesome songwriting (they were terrific lyrics that I could fully relate to and I felt with all my heart).

Eww. I sound gushy. Well whatever. My access to my emotions is one of my finer qualities and is what makes me an awesome performer, so there. I won't apologize for that. I like that dimension of my humanity, empathy, and fragility, and I don't want to blunt that. It's a strength. And besides, I prefer crying for a movie than for my life (and it's not just a phenomenon that happens with musicals) . I'd rather channel my grief/anxiety/aggression into something useful and productive, like into a role for the stage, or into working out at the gym.

And here's my bit of news:

Blacks Don't Bowl has been nominated for Best English Production by the Académie Québecoise du Théâtre, for this year's Soirée des Masques! The awards show will be televised on December 17th. Go, us! It's not a bad first professional show, huh? First the MECCA awards and now this.

I will not be attending though, because apparently, they charge admission. Ah 'eh payin' no fitty dolla fuh dat. Hello, starving artist here...

Never Underestimate...

1) The power of good friends. Thanks to everyone (family and friends) who's been there for me this past week to enourage me and to offer practical support. I've gotten some early Chistmas gifts in the form of some good folks helping me to pay for a few sessions with Alan. Hee-HAW! It means a lot to me to know that I'm not alone, and that I have friends who care about me. I'm a fortunate woman, baby.

2) The power of momentum. No matter how crappy or sluggish you feel, there's a lot to be said for sometimes just forcing yourself to go on and get on with your life. Momentum can really sustain you until your will to exert yourself again kicks in. Phew.

3) The power of a healthy lifestyle. I've been watching my eating and working out hard for the past couple of days, which is going a long way towards giving my body some happy endorphins and tiring me out enough that I think I'm actually going to break the insomnia thing tonight. In fact, as soon as I'm done here, I'm going home to bed! Also, it doesn't hurt that I'm losing weight and looking cuter on the daily. Go, me!

4) The power of prayer. Whatever your personal faith or philosophy, whatever you want to call it, sometimes it's just a good thing to turn things over to a higher power, to acknowledge that you're just a human being and that you can't control everything. It makes surrender a lot less harrowing. Yeah, I'll worry about what I can take care of, and the rest will take care of itself, or it won't. In either case, I'll be fine.

5) Keeping it classy. Even when life dumps on you, at least you can shake it off and respect yourself in the morning.

I give you great big kisses.

Whatta weekend!

In the end, Friday night I had sushi and a vodka soda, which was quite tasty. I've only managed to workout today for the first time since, because I was too tired out by my weekend to safely exercise, and I felt the onset of a cold coming on. Very congested and boogery. (Sorry, that was gross, wasn't it?) And then there are the raging hormones that only Aunt Flo can provoke.

Saturday night, against my better judgment, I joined my colleague Quincy for a quick salad and a drink on Saturday night, but as there was a play closing at the Mainline Theatre that weekend, a whole mess of friends dropped into La Cabane and stayed to talk with us. I love hanging out with Quincy. He's solid gold, baby. It was a late night, but it's so nice to get to connect with people, you know? I think my new beverage of choice will be vodka. It's less sugary and not as full of mold as beer or wine. And your breath doesn't smell. And because of the taste, I'm less inclined to overindulge.

I of course, I did end up eating something bacon-y this weekend, at Eileen's house. It was pizza. (And if chicken wings and fries and mayonnnaise happened to find their way into the fray, it was an accident. Yeah, that's the ticket.) It was only because I was up on Sunday morning at a thoroughly unholy hour to go take my CPR certification course, and then spent the afternoon playing Dance Dance Revolution with Eileen, Thiery, JJ, and JF. Pure jokes! I am not a coordinated chick AT ALL. Scandalous. We also played Mario Kart and then watched Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. (Again! I lurrrve Ralph Fiennes...)

So I slept over at Eileen's, which sort of meant that I slept in, because I got to wake up at 5 am instead of at 4 to go to work. It was awesome. Of course, I was still tired and sore from my last workout on Thursday (it was a doozy--the head trainer at my gym obviously has obviously been taken in by that Fit Test and so he gave me a doozy of a training program. Anyway.) and after a quick stop in to the office I found out something marvelous!

There is a chance that I may get a job teaching Theatre part-time at Vanier College! Pray hard for me! Send out all your bestest good vibes so that they know that I'm utterly fabulous and fall all over themselves to offer me a job. Shoot, I'd even take it if it was offered somwhat grudgingly. This means that if I can hang on to that job for awhile, well, who needs the MFA to be able to teach at a postsecondary level? I'll just accumulate the equivalent in teaching experience! Ooh, it would be so awesome to be able to not work three jobs!

But of course, Monday evening was crap. Deeply crap. Crappity crap. Luckily, there was no vodka in the house, and cigarettes are not an option, so I had to settle for channeling my anger into the self-destructiveness of eating a double bacon cheesburger, fries and onion rings.
(But truth be told, it was SO tasty. Thank God for comfort food.)

Yesterday had lovely moments in it, even though the soundtrack of the movie of my life was an unending refrain of crap. crap. crap. you're worthless. go back to bed. you're a waste of flesh. crap. crap. crap...
But getting back to the lovely moments, because they WERE there. I found out something really amazing about the play that I was in last year: Blacks Don't Bowl. I'm not allowed to say anything until it's made official next Monday, but suffice to say, it's awesome news. Already, we were nominated for a MECCA award for Best Ensemble this year (we didn't win, but it's still pretty amazing that my first professional play is so critically and popularly acclaimed). I also had a great time with Sandra, just talking, eating (healthily) and watching Nacho Libre. That film had such potential to be awesome, if only Jared Hess had been able to get Jack Black to dial it down about two notches. Oh well. It's still the only other Jack Black movie I've ever liked. (The other one was School of Rock.)

I think I'm back on track today, though. I've moved beyond feeling sad and depressed to channeling all my anger, hurt and other such icky feelings into the monster of a workout that Laurent had planned for me. And it worked. I was a beast. In the best possible way. I actually arrived at some new strength goals today, which is really cool. I'm so close to leg pressing 100 pounds, it's not even funny. And I can row 100 pounds. I can compress 120 pounds with my hip abductors and adductors. And all the while, I listened to Chaka Khan's I'm Every Woman on my discman. I feel much better now.

Ah, but will it hold? Tune in next time, I guess. Or not.

Have you ever been

so tired that you're a danger to yourself?

I'm a wee bit sleep-deprived today and feeling so lightheaded that I couldn't work out today. I sat down to lunch in the staff room at the gym and I put my head down for a second and woke up a half-hour later. And there was drool on my arm. Ewww.

Now I'm at the office, but I can't concentrate. I've tripped over the garbage can at the gym, banged my elbow on my desk, and I'm about ready to give it all up as a bad job and just go home.

I'm also feeling somewhat reckless and in the mood for a bacon double cheeseburger. Which would be seriously counterproductive to my efforts at exercise and healthy eating as of late. I think it's just Aunt Flo talking. I may not have the burger, but I'm going to have something special, I just don't know what yet.

Any suggestions?

Just a quick update...

My body is WIPED OUT from a Laban workshop last night with Liz Valdez (no relation to Juan) and from a new training regimen the head trainer at my gym gave me. Then again, I'm sure the sangria pitchers we shared afterwards didn't help matters either. Owee. But I'm gonna be supafly once it's all over, hurray!

(Yes it's a superficial entry, but these days, I really have no life except my imaginary one. I go to work, I come home and sleep. That's about it. Actually, no that's not strictly true. Lately I've been trying to squeeze in a social life of sorts, but my body will never be able to withstand the pace in the long run. Soon, I'll have to become a hermit again, just to avoid getting overexhausted, which leads to illness, which leads to decreased income, which, when you think about it is deeply depressing, considering that I'll gross just under 15,000 and that's while working three jobs. Something is very, deeply wrong here.)

But here's what has been entertaining my mind lately:

A Prayer For Owen Meany. Gotta dig that John Irving. I think this week may become a John Irving festival. I just finished the Cider House Rules, and I think my next stop is Widow For One Year.

Solitaire. But not just the regular stuff. Tri-Peaks, Spider, and all that good stuff. I'm a little Sudoku'd out right now.

What I'd do if I won the lottery. Bye-bye debts, put some in savings, share some with my immediate family, and then take me and my girlfriends (which happens to include my mom, stepmom, sisters and cousin Janice) to some tropical island for three weeks where they've got a celebrity spa and we all can come back looking gorgeous like Halle Berry. It's a pleasant fiction.

Reading Mr. Cranky. This review of Borat is so succint. I wish I could express what I feel about all the hullaboo surrounding this movie so well. (I mean for pete's sake, I just said "hullaboo," obviously I'm wallowing deep in a miasma of inarticulateness. And droppping ridiculously multisyllabic words in hopes that y'all think I'm clever. Heh.) Well played, Mr. Cranky. Well played.

Fallen Angels. The Noel Coward play I saw at the Saidye on Monday night. The ladies were the bomb, (especially Claire Coulter! I mean, she's all kinds of awesome. Whoa.) the men were competent, and the token pretty boy was a waste of flesh and space. Even his not-inconsiderable loveliness could not counterbalance his utter crappiness. I must be growing more mature if I've grown so unwilling to dismiss the utter insipidity of the mind-scramblingly beautiful. Good.

A Cow With Horns. The video clip of my dad in Nigeria documenting the cows he passes on the way to work, just before one of them began to charge after him. Poor Dad. It's always an adventure for him every time he goes over. I wish I knew how to upload the clip for y'all to see it. It's money, Baby.

Okay, now I'm off. And just so you know yet another piece of totally insignificant news about me (I told you my life is boring right now):

Tune in next week for my review of my first experience playing Dance Revolution at Eileen's this coming weekend! Thrills! Spills! And hopefully, Skillz!

Right now I'm craving...

With gravy. Yum! Oh so good.
(Of course, if I were to probe a little deeper, it may be more accurate to say that I'm craving some kind of comfort.)

Oh no! Actually, what I'm really craving is...



and especially....


Oh God, Mummy I miss you! That's what I'm craving the most. Your company.

And I'm sorry, the West Indian restaurants in town just can't compete. (And not because she's my mom, so obviously I think she's the best.) No, we ALL think she's the best. Anyone who's ever eaten her food knows what's up. She's a caterer, yo. Man, if she opened up a place in town, she'd have the lot of them up against the ropes.


I need to pay better attention when she cooks, actually, so that maybe I can satisfy my cravings myself. But somehow, I doubt that I can get that same special "something", even with the aid of my trusty Naparima Girls High School Cookbook. And if you've ever tried to pry your grandmother's recipe for something out of her and have gotten the response, "Well, put some of this and this and this and stir it until it looks right" or some other derivative of that response then you know. Some recipes can't be measured. You've just gotta feel it and know what you like.

Mmm....roti..... *slobber!*

Because my dad will dig this

Star Trek Cribs!

On the other hand...

I don't think a 21-year old would feel quite as sore as I do today after taking said Fit Test.


(Just don't tell anybody. Especially Thiery!)

Strong Like Bull...

So today I was dreading taking a Fit Test, which is this test that the gym sells to measure your physiological age. I've been stressed about taking the test (we're all obliged to do so so that we know what we're selling the members) since I'm like 40 pounds overweight. My body image has been hurting, you know?

But as it turns out, when I took the test, with regards to my strength and endurance and flexbility, all those factors were measured at....are you ready for this?

I apparently have the body of a 21 year old. Ten years younger than my chronological age y'all.

And I would have had even younger, except for the only factor that threw me off was my waist circumference, which they calculated at (gulp!) 50 years old. All the rest of the factors were at 15 years old.

The only person with a better difference between the physical and chronological age was the head trainer, and that guy is a BEAST. Imagine what I could be if I actually started to exercise regularly and eat carefully again! Therre was a time that my body looked like the picture. Seriously. That was last summer, and thirty pounds ago. I miss those days. So I'm going to take my spectacular, youthful body home and feed it a nice dinner and then get some sleep.

(Heh heh. Best of all, I beat Thiery. Haw haw HAH!)

Yeah, I said it...

I don't normally get political on this blog, but I just had to direct your attention to this.

Bill's right, it is heartrending.

How I'm livin

(Insert clever and pithy punchline about the state of my life here.)

I love my bed so much...

I'm thinking of giving it a name. I mean, we've got a relationshiop here. But it has to be a good name that means something. I think I'll research some lovely latin or greek-based name that means lethe or forgetfulness or nirvana or something.

All I came up with was Visa. Because it's everywhere you want to be. And also, because I can't help but feel that sooner or later I'm going to have to pay for all the time I've been spending in it.

(Also, my neck really hurts because I did a stage combat class tonight. I will definitely be putting a heating pad on it. Owee.)

A Mini Break

Things are a bit of a downer these days, there's just such a lot of crappy things happening all at once, and right now it's taking all of my energy to just put one foot in front of the other and keep going, so that's what I'm going to focus on for the next little while. I'm just having a wee bit of a setback, you know, the two steps forward, one step back kind of thing. But hey, I'll bounce back, I come from a long line of survivors.

Oh, and beloved Bill has made me realize something I should post: The housewarming is put on hold, no you haven't missed it.

Signing off for now. Maybe I'll feel better soon and write next week, but let's not put any promises out there that I may not keep. You know what they said about the best laid plans of mice and men...(actually, I'm reading that right now. I like it.)

Ciao 4 now.

Meh.

I'm very sad right now.

Pimpin' Ain't Easy...

I'm sure y'all remember that show "Pimp My Ride" which was a really ridiculous concept when you think about it. I'm all for helping people to have safe and reliable transportation, but stuff like popcorn makers, cappucino machine, DVD players and the like in your car is just ridiculous. No one needs to have their car tricked out like that. If you're going to invest money in extra luxuries, don't put it on a car which will only distract you from your driving or assure that your car gets jacked.

But Darlings, I have taken pimping to the next level. Pimpin' ain't easy, it's true, but this has been among the most worthy investments I have ever made in my life. I'm talking about pimping your bed. Now before you all start getting the wrong idea and think I'm going to change my name to Slickback or something, hear me out.

Thanks to Stephanie, I have just inherited the most comfortable bed of my life, this wonderful queen-sized orthopedic mattress and boxspring. I had gotten an awesome duvet and sheet set with a high thread count as a wedding gift, and so it was as comfortable a sleeping experience as I have ever had. But last night, I bought this gel-filled mattress cover and new pillowcases. Dy-no-mite! It has never been so hard to get out of bed as it was this morning.

If you aren't gellin' right about now, you gotta get on it. As Angela so wisely pointed out to me, you spend about a third of your life in bed, so make it count.


And speaking about pimpin...
This is a very peculiar clip, but if I tell you more, I'll spoil it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-feLDOpJfYg

I've sniggered over this one ever since I saw it yesterday.

Days later...

I'm still giggling madly about l'il Danny Radcliffe on Extras. I mean, at weird, random moments of the day whenever I think back to it. It has even happened in public, in spite of myself.

Hee! Hee! Hee! Bwah-hah-ha! Kyah! Kyah! Kyah! (which is, in case you didn't know, the West Indian rendition of hyuk! yuk! hyuk!)

Hey Mom! If you're reading this, I used my Naparima Girls cookbook last night!

Once you get over the weirdness of it,

it's really funny.

http://www.danradcliffe.com/news/fullnews.php?id=1545

There's something about seeing Harry Potter being a slimy git hitting on older women that just cracks me up. Again, keep in mind that this is British humour and it's not for kids, but there's something really hilarious about watching Dan Radcliffe spoof himself. He's just so painfully awkward--you know, actually it reminds me (albeit vaguely) of the Ricky Gervais character on the Office.

I like this kid because he plays Harry Potter, appears to be a decent kid with his head together, and is growing up awfully cute in a geeky way. However, as much as I like this kid (and I do) I never really thought he was a particularly good actor before-I wanted to think he was a good actor, just on principle, but well, the reality is what it is.

Or so I thought.

It has since occurred to me that he might be aware of how stilted his acting has been in the past after watching him mock his bad acting from Harry Potter on the show. I guess it's a good thing that he's had the chance to get other acting gigs besides the HP series. You can see it, how he switches from the "film acting" and then turns into a complete and utter berk "offscreen". It is awesome. Har har.

It really works, too!

Finally, my beloved El Bill came by to visit and bless my new apartment with liquor and barbecue. We couldn't eat our way through the chicken and the whole hawg, courtesy of Bar-B-Barn, but we sure tried. The ribs in particular, were the worst hit. Man, did I ever sleep well that night. I think it was the ribs. But it might have been easing down every tasty, greasy, biteful with yum-yum-yummy Graham's six grapes porto. (I have since learned that all port is made with more than six grapes, and the "six grapes" thing is just a name. Thanks, Bill.)

And..."Thanks, Ribs!"

My pick of the day...

Har! Har! Har! I revel in my immaturity.

Housewarming Update

It has been brought to my attention that the day I proposed for a housewarming party is a stupid one. October the 8th is Thanksgiving weekend. My family will be looking for me on that day.
So we'll do it same place, sime time the following Sunday, on the 15th. Y'all know how to reach me if you're coming.

Also:

Eileen turned me on to these Kooky Korean girls doing Karaoke, and I must tell you, it's fan-flippin-tabulous.

Check it out.

Craptacular.

Birthday Clown

So, I had an interesting afternoon today, doing a theatre games workshop for a 10th birthday party.

The mother of former student of mine (who I always thought was wonderful and could be a star if she wanted to, she's that good) called me last week and asked me to give a theatre class for her daughter and twenty of her closest friends.

I loved teaching her daughter, Grace. And trust me, the name fits the girl perfectly. This sweet, soft-spoken British-Persian girl with an angel face and the manners of a lady. Sharp girl, very disciplined, quite mature for her age. Anyhoo.

She had a dress-up birthday party and all of her friends dressed up as their favourite characters from the movies. I saw an Elle Woods, Jack Sparrow and Elizabeth, Zorro, D'Artagnan. But Grace had it locked down as Sandy from Grease. But not the sweet Sandy from the beginning of the film. She was the hoochified Sandy complete with off the shoulder top, capris and high heels. And not only did she manage to not look trashy, she can walk in her heels better than I can.

Kids really are older than they used to be.

The workshop was fun, they were a lovely group of girls, and even if things got shrieky at times and it sometimes took awhile for things to settle down, I mean come on, they're ten years old. They were all very polite, and loads of fun. Grace's five year-old brother ("Just Jack" is how he introduced himself to me--how could you not love a kid like that?) participated in the class too, and all the girls were so kind to him and never made him feel like he was slowing things down (well, actually, he didn't, he's freaky smart like a prodigy).

The workshop was a resounding success (YOU try keeping twenty-odd 10-year old girls entertained for two hours) and although things ran a little longer than I expected, it was all good. I keep saying that I don't like kids, but somehow I just keep on managing to like them in spite of myself (seriously) and to have a blast with them.

It might be something like the relationship that my dad has with cats. He's cranky and pretends not to like them, but they see through him and love him anyway, and when no one's looking, he feeds them tuna. Anyhoo.

Just before I gave the parents my invoice for services rendered, Grace's grandfather comes rushing up to me and clutches my bicep to congratulate me on a job well done. Okay, sure, his hand brushed the side of my breast, but I figure hey, accidents happen, like the time Lianne goosed that girl who came to visit her.
However, it was SO not an accident when he put his hand on my butt ten seconds later.

At first, I wished I had a sock full of chalk so I could smack him on the head and say:

"I don't think so! Homey don't play dat."

Then I thought that I would not be a credit to the race for getting dragged into a police cruiser in the middle of Westmount because I gave an elderly man an open-handed smack in the mouth.

Apparently, my body really is too bootylicious for ya, Babe. I wonder: maybe if there was less of it, he wouldn't have had such an easy target. Did he think that just because I have more than my fair share of backy, I wouldn't notice if he grabbed the extra?

I was ready to bounce out the door, and forget about the check, but Grace's mom offered me a glass of wine and a piece of birthday cake, and I thought it was rude to refuse (and Hell-O! She offered me VINO), so I spent the remaining ten minutes eating my birthday cake and sipping a glass of white wine with my back to the wall. Grace's parents gave me a bit of a funny look, but then again, I guess I looked strange navigating the swarms of little girls with my backside resolutely plastered against the walls or moving from seat to seat like a musical chairs game.

Finally, enough time passed that I could politely excuse myself from the party, and said goodbye to all the girls, who were all quite sweet and blew kisses and gave me big hugs. Grace, ever the lady, came up to me, thanked me for the workshop and told me I did a lovely job. The hostess with the mostest. And once I put on my coat and grabbed my purse to go, Grace's dad came up to me, shook my hand, and pressed a folded check into it, with a fervent thank you.

And as I walked out the door, singing to myself:

"Homey the clown,
Don't mess around,
Even though the Man,
Try to keep him down,
One day Homey will,
Break all the chains,
Then he'll fly away,
But until that day,
Homey don't play."

And I stepped out just in time to see a rainbow. And all was forgiven. Grabby Grandpa shrunk from a specter of dirty old manhood down to a harmless horndog in a matter of seconds. When you think about it, it was such a clichéd situation anyway that I just had to laugh.

And then I open my check and saw that they had paid me an extra fifty dollars.

I'm not sure whether that's their way of rewarding me for a job well done, for apologizing for their grandpa: David Cop-a-feel, or if they're just purchasing my silence.

Well whatever it is, it's translating to a much-deserved cocktail for yours truly tonight.

Cheers!

(Incidentally, I just noticed there's a Homey the Clown, Advice Columnist blog. Thought I'd go check it out. Mind you, if you know Homey D. Clown, you know he's not for kids. Visit at your own risk.)

You know it's true, too.

Y'all know how much I love Despair.com and the Demotivators.
Well, now you can make your very own posters, and I just had to offer up the one that resonates with me the most. (Seeing as these days there's a little more bounce to the ounce.)
Which ones would you come up with?

Oh, and I've decided...

That I'm having my Housewarming Party on Sunday, October the 8th, at 3pm.
Y'all know how to reach me. RSVP and I'll give you the directions and whatnot.

I was going to wait until I'd finished decorating and painting and all, but I figured, if I just get on with it, I can get decorating advice and liquor and your company all at once. How can it possibly get better than that?

If you can't make it that day, let me know. I'll invite you to my Collective Hosing Party. (All you non-Canadians, get your minds outta the gutter, because we are gonna park ourselves on the

SOFA OF DOOM!!!!!

and the nefarious

ARMCHAIR OF DISASTER!!!!!

and eat and drink and blather on...or not, if we decide to watch DVDs or play video games. Just basically be lazy as a group. Bacon pizzas are optional.) Date TBA.

Call me y'all or email me or something. Or not.

I have spoken.

This reminds me...

of when my husband and I broke up.
God bless all you loverly people who fed me and offered me booze when I was sad.

Mind you, just because I'm not sad lately doesn't mean you can't feed me and give me booze. If you feel like spoiling me, well refusing you would just be plain rude.

I'm just sayin...

(erm, visit Scary Go Round. Please don't sue me, John Allison.)

Oh so sleepy...

I don't know how I'm going to log in a full day today at BTW, after doing seven hours at the gym this morning. Kiddos, I have my doubts about this job, and it's not just about the schedule. But I'll tell you more about it when (if) I manage to get alert again .

Kisses!

P.S. Incidentally, Matt Damon losing his mind on Jimmy Kimmel Live is perhaps one the the best pulled off pranks in the business. When you stop feeling embarassed about it and realize it's a joke, it gets super funnny. In fact, I think I might just like Matt Damon more today as a result of it.

Like when I left for work this morning...

Yes, I'm a little lazy about posting any meaningful content lately. Hm, maybe my next demotivator will be about laziness.

And the word for the day is...

I am almost ashamed to admit how long it took me to leave my house today. But I'm living it up while I still can, relishing the time when I'll be able to look back and say, "Before I started working at 6 am..."

(On the other hand, I finally took the time to give myself a pedicure and my feet are really soft. So it's not like this morning was a total loss.)

This is why I wear weaves, people....

I have sound clips...

...I just haven't figured out yet how to post them in such a way that you can listen to them. I finally have recordings of me singing in casinos (I'm warning you now: although I'm utterly ridiculous, I'm the only one allowed to mock me about it). Does anyone know how to post mp3 audio files to the net? Perhaps I can figure out a way to make a link, but I don't want to pay for it.

Anyhow, I'm almost settled into my apartment. I mean, basically everything's unpacked and there are just a few more purchases to make it so that it looks like a woman in her thirties rather than a college student lives there.

Yes indeedy, soon we will have housewarming hijinks! No gifts necessary please, just bring yourselves, music, food and drink (or any combination of the above but most importantly the yourselves part) and we'll chill or get silly, depending on our mood. Quite frankly, I owe my karaoke-singing neighbours a rousing chorus of just...something. Anything.

And if you're the stubborn type who will insist on getting something because you're a shopaholic, please think along the lines of air fresheners.
Plug-Ins, candles, sprays...it's all good. I like spicy, warm amber, herbal, citrus or vanilla-y type smells. Floral and fruityness is just nasty. Think about it.

Not that I'm filthy or funky. It just so happens that one of the minor drawbacks of where I live is that I can smell my neighbours' cooking. Don't get me wrong, I love Asian cuisine. It just smells stank when it's cooking. Deep frying, onion, and fish paste smells waking you up first thing in the morning, wafting into your shower, or just popping up at all kinds of random moments in several rooms at once do not inspire neighbourly feeling.

Trust me.

Oh, I've also got a new job. I'm going to work part-time at the gym.
Free membership: ha-HA!
Starting work at six in the morning: WAH-haahhhhh.....

I'm alive...

...just busy.

And ridiculously broke. How in the heck does this keep happening?
Oh yeah, I spend all of my money before my next paycheck.
Right.

Up, Up and Awayyyyy...

Wow y'all.

Do you know Mrs. Miller? She's this woman in the sixties who was somewhat classically trained and had gotten a recording contract to sing contemporary tunes in her style.

The problem is, she's really bad at it (the poor thing), and the whole recording contract was something of a practical joke. But she was quite successful for a time.

My favourite song of hers is her rendition of "Girl from Ipanema" but it's hard to find if you don't have the album. Her scat midway though is...it's...well, no one does it like her, is all I'll say.

You can find "Up, Up and Away" on LimeWire which is bloody brilliant!

But just for giggles, take a listen to Downtown. Just. Wow.
No, seriously.

"Wouldn't you like to ride in my beeyoootiful balloooooon...."

If you want to hear her massacre the Beatles, check out this site.

Home again, home again...

Yee-HAW! I'm in my new apartment!

We were moving yesterday for 14 hours. We were four people sharing a truck and never more than nine people schlepping stuff at a time , but we got it done! It was nice to reconnect with people I haven't hung out with in awhile. There was a lot of pizza and beer that day. I will be content to not eat pizza again for many months, I think. As for the beer, I make no promises.

Over the course of the next week, I'll be cleaning up the apartment and unpacking because right now it looks CRAZY in there. I can't stand living in chaos.

Also, I can't wait to have a housewarming and to have you all come to visit! two weeks from now, for sure!
It's funny, now that I finally have my privacy and solitude, I'm much more willing to invite people to come into it and visit.

I love you and kiss you ALL, *m'wah! m'wah!*

Last Night...

in the old apartment! (As I wrote the above title to this entry, the song "High Times" by Jamiroquai popped in my head, and now it's the soundtrack to this post. ♫Doo doo doo doo doo...♫)

I've packed up just about everything I can pack (except for my bedding) and then as of tomorrow, I'm going to live somewhere else! That's amazing! I don't have that same sadness this time around of leaving behind my home. I think it's because this time is not like the other times, when I was leaving my ex-husband and not knowing when I'd go back home or even if it still was my home, or like the time I left my parents' house which, although it came with its own brand of challenges and a houseful of teenagers, was nevertheless my soft landing, my safe place where I was welcome and loved just the way I was.

Now I'm moving away from an apartment that doesn't have Stephanie in it anymore. All of the heart has gone out of the place. Now there's nothing left there but great big rooms, marble floors and nosy cotton' pickin' OCD landlords. And I'm sore as anything from lifting and shifting furniture and whatnot.
(The whatnot would be the extensive cleaning of the apartment, including, walls, ceilings and every little nooks and cranny. And I mean every single one. I don't want them to be able to say a pair of jungle bunnies lived up in there.)

I'm moving forward and upward on to a bright new start, Babies! And the forecast is looking clear and bright!

♫Doo doo doo doo doo...♫

Don't you know that last night
Turned to daylight
And a minute became a day
Last night
All my troubles
Well they seemed so, so far away
Searching my reflection
For a glimpse of, another me
I've got to get away from these high times
All these high high times
Cause these high times
Are killing me

Cleaning House

Since I've been packing in preparation for the move, I've been decluttering and feng shui-ing my apartment. It's such an amazing feeling to throw away those things that you've been hanging on to out of nostalgia (or laziness) but which no longer serve a useful purpose, or those things which which lose their initial significance. You know what I'm talking about. Those relics of previous days that you thought would always mean so much to you, or that would recall moments that you thought would always be pleasurable?

Yeah, allyuh packrats, I'm talkin to YOU.

I too, have been guilty of this phenomenon in the past, but once I started throwing out the things I didn't need (like those articles of clothing I haven't worn in the past year, for example) and got down to the bare essentials, I felt so light! Like I was actually on top of things! Well, soon that translated itself over to feng shui-ing my body and clearing out stupid junk foods, alcohol, and cigarettes (I haven't slipped up in a week). Next, comes the clearing out of angry, bitter and frustrated resentments that I've been hanging on to. Who needs them? They're just taking up space in my mind. Even little things like clearing my desk, my purse, clearing away profanity...now that I've started, I just can't stop!

Anyway, to quote the good folks of Parliament (think Funkadelic and not government):

Free your mind and your booty will follow...

Atlanta: The final Chapter

I liked Atlanta, and I really relished my final hang-outs with Stephanie. We drove through Buckhead which was a pretty funky little neighbourhood. Reminded me a little bit of Montreal. It was a welcome change from the strip malls we seemed to be seeing in all the suburbs. We drove past the governor's house and through this neighbourhood with some spectacular homes.

Downtown was...well, basically just another downtown, albeit with a lot more Coca-Cola advertisements than I've ever seen in any town. But here's something I'd never seen before: Policemen wearing shorts! They seemed less intimidating somehow, stern faces and scowls notwithstanding. But you know, you still gotta respect a dude with a gun and a billy club, even if he has chicken legs and ashy knees.

Beluga was a cool martini bar in buckhead where we went for drinks that night, and the live band playing that night was the bomb! It's nice to be a spectator sometimes, you know? I expected a martini bar to be something like the Jello Bar, a little more loungy, more laid-back. Anyways, if it wasn't for the band, the killer music (we killed it on the dance floor, baby!) and super tasty martinis, it would have been disappointing. But it was all good.

Flying back home the next day was an ordeal. The kicker is, up until a certain point, I was just sailing on through. I even had time for a quick bite at a soul food joint. (Fried chicken, cornbread, collards, macaroni, and black eyed peas, all covered in hot sauce! Yum. Much better choice than the typical burger joint, or chinese food place, or sub-par Italian counter.) I couldn't finish my plate, though. Pity.

But once I hit airport security, it was ridiculous. It took two tries to make absolutely sure I didn't have a single thing in my purse or on my person that made them nervous. In the end, I had to mail some of my stuff back to myself. The lady in the Post Office was amazing. I didn't have enough money on me at the time so she paid for my shipping. I'm buying her a thank-you card today and enclosing a money order with it. Good Samaritans abound! I was truly humbled and touched by this perfect stranger just wanting to help me out.

Then came the mad dash to the train (yes, you have to take a train between terminals) and to board the plane. That convinced me to take the weight-loss thing seriously, I thought I would hyperventilate and pass out after that sprint.

It was one of those itty bitty planes, and I'd forgotten how bumpy a ride it can be in a fifty-seater. But it wasn't worrisome. By far, the most stressful flight I ever had in a small plane was the flight from Indonesia to Singapore with Lianne. I'll never forget the sight of the cockpit (because it was only separated from the cabin by a curtain, which was drawn back) completely lit up, beeping loudly, and the sight of the pilot scratching his head in confusion.

Then, home again, home again, jiggety jog.
My tale of my cross-country pilgrimage is done.

Spread love today, Bay-bees!

Press Release!

Also, an excuse to add pics, which I haven't done in forever...

BLACK THEATRE WORKSHOP

YouthWorks: COMPREHENSIVE PERFORMANCE ARTS TRAINING

2006-2007 Season

Open Audition Call

Press release
For immediate release


Montreal, August 23, 2006 – The word is out! Black Theatre Workshop’s YouthWorks, Performing Arts Training Program, will be holding open auditions on September 2nd and 9th.The auditions will be held in the Black Theatre Workshop Studio Space, 3680 Jeanne Mance, Suite 460. All levels of experience are welcome.

YouthWorks invites all interested young people to join its fall/winter program, which runs from September 23, 2006 to May 7, 2007. If you are between the ages of 12 and 25, this is your chance to unleash your talents or simply discover your creative voice.

YouthWorks is a bilingual multi-disciplinary program that offers Introductory, Intermediate and Advanced level programs. YouthWorks helps develop key skills and values involved in theatre performance integrating both Western and Africentric theatre principles and practices. Our aim is to expose participants to a hybrid of theatre training that resonates with and is more accessible to our young people.

The 26 week fall / winter program picks up from our 2 week summer intensive program, with an individualized and comprehensive performance curriculum. Students in Levels I and II develop their skills through focusing on staging and play production. Level III students create, develop, and stage their own creations encompassing a variety of performance art forms.

This year, YouthWorks introduces its Industry Seminars. Industry Professionals will offer to YouthWorks participants a Specialty Workshop Series covering a variety of disciplines on an invitation-only basis. YouthWorks participants will also have the opportunity to attend performances of Black Theatre Workshops Mainstage productions as well as this year’s special BTW presentation of The Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre in collaboration with Les Grands Ballets Canadiens.

Black Theatre Workshop
YouthWorks 2006-2007 Season
Auditions September 2, 9, and 16, 2006
To book an interview:
(514) 932-1104 ext. 224
Fax: 932-6311

youthworks@blacktheatreworkshop.ca

This is not an entertaining post...

Does anyone know someone looking to buy a washing machine? Call me or email me if you know anyone...I gotta get rid of it before I move next week.


As for the heading, well, what can I say. When your bread and butter is the entertainment industry, sometimes you just want to indulge in the luxury of being boring.

So HA! I revel in my banality!
Friends can stay, haters go catch the show if you want entertainment. Or just go.

The Road Warriors

Sorry it took me so long to update, but I've been busy...good busy! And now I have found a gorgeous apartment! I'll be living right around the corner from Cyrille and Charmaine (hmm, I suspect that I'll be getting lots of calls to babysit--actually, that's okay, they've got cable!) And the beauty supply shops are barely a 20 minute walk! Yes sir! My hair will be hooked up...SOLID! I won't have to wait until I go stateside to get hair goodies! Although I can never seem to find Matrix Biolage products at a decent price in town. But I digress.

My own, pretty, pretty apartment! Yay! God came through for me, Babies! Thanks for the prayers, did they ever work! It's a decent price that I can afford, so I won't be destitute. I won't even be po'. I'll just be broke. That's a step in the right direction, I think. Next step, find a second job. Then I'll get out of debt. And baby, after that, the sky's the limit! I'll start saving!

So yeah, the rest of the trip...

So we hit the road early the next morning, full of coffee and better rested than the day before. I continued knitting while me and Stephanie talked, and talked, AND talked. I haven't talked that much with any single person in a long time. And the tunes were so good1 The rest of Baltimore sped by to the sounds of Amel Larrieux. Sigh.

Washington D.C. and Virginia were all about Earth, Wind and Fire. And I saw brick red roads for the first time in my life. It's pretty trippy. (I've never been to P.E.I. so I've never witnessed that phenomenon firsthand before.) And it was swelteringly hot. That dirty heatwave just wouldn't let up, man.
Kudzu creeps over all the trees and makes these wicked living leafy sculptures all along the side of the road, which was cool. Ah, and Donny Hathaway saw us over the state line into North Carolina.

Because we switched from the I-95 to the I-85, we didn't get to stop at South of the Border, this wonderfully tacky theme park in South Carolina just south of the state line to N.C. Mom and Fabian wouldn't stop there either when we drove down to Florida during my high school days. More's the pity. I remember watching that movie with Sandra Bullock and Ben Affleck Forces of Nautre, and it looked like they were having so much fun when they stopped there. And I mean, they aren't the finest actors around, so it must be true! I make a solemn promise to myself to one day stop there and go on the rides and eat bad Mexican food, 'cause I like to live dangerously!

Sort of.

Anyhow. Then we hit Georgia, and everything was going smoothly until we hit the Atlanta area, and of course we had to start to get lost again. But I imagine that after 12 hours of driving, your concentration gets a little wonky, so it's inevitable. But as it turns out, the place where we stopped to call for directions turned out to be the right direction to take, and fifteen minutes later, Stephanie's mom drove up, led us to Popeye's Chicken, and then took us home. And the spicy chicken, red beans and rice, and buttermilk biscuits were everything that I imagined they would be. The cold beers could not wash away my goofy, blissed out grin.

Was it worth the sixteen hour hunt?
You best believe it was, baby. I'd do it again.

It was the Taco Bell that I regretted.

I'll tell you about Atlanta next time. What a place.

The Saga Continues: Big Game Hunting for Chickenus Deepfriedicus

After fourteen hours of driving, we pull into Baltimore and see the exit for downtown Baltimore via Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd or via Phelps (I think?). We took Martin Luther King Jr. and found ourselves in some sketchy surroundings, so we hightailed it back to the highway, now woozy with fatigue and desperate to find a place to stop and settle in. It made me think of Episode 10 from The Boondocks where you can't help that notice every street named after Dr. King tends to be--um, how should I say this?--not quite what you'd call upscale. Anyway.

Baltimore has just as many frustrating one-way streets as Montreal. I felt right at home. We find the Holiday Inn, get settled in and call down to the front desk to find out where the nearest Popeye's is, because we've got a craving for fried chicken and beer that cannot be denied. Ali, the lovely sister on the phone took pity on our plight and gave us directions to the nearest one she knew, which happened to be right around the corner from where she lived. So, although we were exhausted, we were also buoyed up by the hunt! We armed ourselves with purses, Ali's directions (but not the road map, stupid me) and all the enthusiasm we could muster, and we hit the road.

Everything was going fine until we got to the 295 looking for the correct exit. We were halfway to Washingtone before we realized that we had been driving much longer than the reputed 15 minutes it would take to get there. We turned around and miraculously found our way back to the hotel a mere hour and fifteen minutes later, now delirious with fatigue and hallucinating (just a tiny bit--if envisioning a bucket of fried chicken and biscuits flying just out of reach and how to bring about the imminent death by soup spoon of a concierge named Ali in technicolour counts as hallucination).

I called back down at the front desk, where Ali had mysteriously decamped, and now I was speaking with Antwone, the gentlemen who checked us in. I asked about the restaurant downstairs (now closed) and whether there were any places nearby that would deliver. There was. I asked for the number. He asked where we were from. I said, Montreal Canada, we were exhausted from trying to find a Popeye's and just wanted to eat and go to sleep. He then asks, "Why didn't y'all ask me?"
...
...
What do you answer to this? Okay: Deep breath. Deep breath. Don't roll your eyes or grit your teeth Tamara. If you can hear a smile over a telephone, surely you can sense when someone is strangling a pillow and wishing it was your neck. Deep breath.

"My bad. Anyway, the bar is open downstairs and I can bring beers back up to my room, right?"

He replied in the affirmative, and then proceeds to tell me about his friend from Montreal. Steph and I are now dizzy with hunger, so I interrupt as nicely as I can and ask about that delivery number and we hang up.

We order two cheesburgers (somehow they are 12-inch burgers, whatever that means), fries and onion rings. That will cost 24 bucks. I die a little inside. We go downstairs to pick up six beers. That costs 30 dollars. I die a little more and trudge back upstairs, 40% dead now.

When the food arrives an hour later (keep in mind, we set out in search of Popeye's around 9:30 pm and it is now midnight) and the death percentage is hovering around 65%, we open the bag and find what looks like two wrapped submarines. Death percentage has shot up to 95% and I'm about to collapse on the floor in tears of frustration.

But behold! Inside the submarine rolls are cheeseburgers, oddly enough. Sure, they're lukewarm, but my onion rings are tasty, and hunger is a marvellous tonic. Food and beers are inhaled and we drop off into sleep after being awake for seventeen hours on three hours of sleep.

I have crazy nightmares about death that night. And so I make a vow: no more greasy food before bedtime. No, really, I'm serious.

The next day, the city looks like a completely different place: less menacing, more open. Fueled with tasty hot coffee, we hit the road, determined to make it to Jonesboro and to resume the hunt for that ever-elusive Chickenus Deepfriedicus...

D'oh! That's what you get...

when you surf the net instead of going back to work right away. So now I have to pass on this book meme courtesy of Bill.

So here's how it goes:

The Rules:

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 3 sentences on your blog along with these instructions.

Don’t you dare dig for that “cool” or “intellectual” book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest, then tag three people.

The Result:

Our linguist says their moaning is a prayer for death, ours and their own.
Some try to starve themselves.
Lost three this morning leaped with crazy laughter to the waiting sharks, sang as they went under.

Courtesy of the poem, Middle Passage, all about slave ships and the slave trade, by Robert Hayden.
Honest to goodness, it was the nearest book, but then again, I am at the office and I only noticed the In Style Magazine nearby two seconds after I finished typing. Oh, wait, that doesn't count as a book, does it? Anyway, on you go! I hope yours is lighter than mine.

Okay, Brigitte, Lianne and Kay, I tag you!

You make me feel...

Also, I thought it would be a funny story to relate of one of the few times in my entire life I actually had a snappy comeback at the ready instead of three days later. I'm milking it for everything it's worth because I won't have another one for years, I know it.

Some random fellow in AC during the gig made some comment that I suppose was supposed to pass for a compliment on my good looks and whatnot. I said in my huskiest voice:

"Thanks, only one more operation before I'm all woman!"

Ah yes indeedy, those are the days it pays to get out of bed...

Apropos of nothing...

I forget where I heard it was bad form to post more than once in a day, but since you're all friends of mine, you know how tacky I am.

Anyway. I've been apartment hunting, and let me tell you, downtown apartments are expensive. But as long as it's cheaper than what I'm paying now, I will not complain. And since homelessness is not an option, I'm wrapping this mess up as of this week. No joke. Then and only then will I finally get around to phoning you all so that I can exploit you as movers. Heh.
Um, but it's not pure exploitation: I pay in lots of greasy, salty junk food! Or healthy food, if you prefer.

Anyway, I promise to have a housewarming party soon so that you can all compliment me on my lovely apartment and remark to yourselves how badly I've been ripped off.

But oh, to live alone! How fabulous! To finally be able to run around the apartment in my underwear! (well, I already do that, but now it won't be offensive to anybody!)

The Cross-Country Tour...

was a trip. Wow. Started on Thursday morning after a whopping three hours of sleep (but you know how those gigs mash up my sleep cycle, so that was inevitable) and we hit the road.

And promptly missed our exit. Took the 10 instead of the 15. But rather than go back, we bought a map and continued on until we crossed the border through Vermont.

Ah, Vermont. Lots of hills. It was all very green. And pretty. There were old white men in every passing car. I ate my first turkey sandwich and granola bar. Not long after, it was, "Bye Vermont! What's up, Massachusetts!"
(Incidentally, I said goodbye to every state we left and what's up t every new one we entered. If I got on Stephanie's nerves, she kindly didn't let on.)

Then Massachussetts. Ah, Massachusetts. What can I say about Massachusetts? Actually, nothing, now that I think of it. It was nice, and it was over quickly. I saw one elderly black man at our bathroom break, which I thought was cool. First one! I also saw this skinny dude come rolling up in the diner wearing black PVC chaps over his blue jeans. Ugh. Actually, I'll go back to my first statement: Massachusetts, nothing much to see.

Then we rolled up in Connecticut. We stopped in New Haven to get gas (but only for the car, sadly, as Stephanie wanted to forgo a pit stop at Taco Bell or at Popeye's Fried Chicken) and I saw Yale University. Which was cool. I also saw many more black people, which I thought was a-ok. Of course, I also saw a huge economic disparity between the races, which was decidedly not. Hmph. But since I became friends with Stephanie, I've stopped wantonly abusing Americans at large, so I'll hold to that. Anyway, it's not like we're any better up here. Brown-skinned folks get the short end just as much. If you're Black or Native, you know exactly what I'm talking about. And I'm thinking about my Filipina friend who's a nanny, as well. She's got a rough deal too.

Driving through New York and New Jersey took forever, because that's where we got connected with the I-95 and had to cross through the Bronx and then the New Jersey Turnpike. At rush hour. I will not attempt to conceal the fact that after two hours crawling through traffic and really needing to use the bathroom, that some profanity snuck out from time to time. The three hours we'd slept weighed very heavily on us as we crawled through that traffic. It also meant that there was no way we'd be able to crash in Richmond, Virginia that night, which really sucked. As for New York state and Jersey, just...ew. I have just four words for you: Oil and Petrochemical refineries.

Moving on: Next was Pennsylvania. We drove by Philadelphia, and Popeye's chicken was calling out to me strongly (you may remember from a previous post that it was in Philly where I first discovered the glories of Popeye's.) Lots of hills. It was green. It was over quickly. We listened to parliament and tore the roof off the sucka.

Boistered by a promise from Stephanie that we would get some Popeye's and beers once we made it to Baltimore, we continued driving to Maryland. We were really, really, tired. The sun had gone down on a 14-hour driving day.

I'll give you the next part of the saga tomorrow for two reasons: one, I should get back to work, and two, maybe it'll seem funnier to me by then. The more that time goes by, the more I can see the humour in things.

On the road again...

Yes indeedy, I'm back for two days from Atlantic City and a killer heatwave. My cocoa-caramel tan is beginning to fade as are all the wicked bug bites I sustained while there.

And guess what else? I still have to move! Crap. My landlords are not amenable to having me stay at my present apartment without a roommate, so now I've got to pull off a miraculous move in a matter of weeks. Like, two of them.

I'm going to trust to hope and serendipity and any other benevolent force in the universe to hook me up with a decent situation. Please send all of your good and positive vibes my way, and to those of you who pray, could you make out a few of those to the Big Guy on my behalf? Much appreciated.

Well, next stop, Hotlanta...

Lots of maniacal laughing

and not a lot of work done yet.
But I have reasons! Just not good ones.

(There also happens to be absolutely no one else in the office yet today. I'm sure I'll eventually exert myself, probably for the sake of appearances and living up to my lovely job title in public when/if someone comes in today. There you go. I'm a horrible person. Or just dangerously close to my vacation time, whatever.)

Check this out:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QeTuQDJDqdM&feature=Views&page=4&t=m&f=b

I was telling Lianne about this one and you know, maybe if there had been hijinks like this at PSL, I might have stayed in the corporate world. Maybe I can bring a little of this dementia into Black Theatre Workshop. Hm. Who should I pick on first?
Probably not my boss (although, to quote Dave Chappelle: That would be the ballinest sh*t EVA!) and probably not the Marketing Director, because she works out.
The General Manager is thin and cute and sweet, and although she looks like I could break her in two by sitting on her, I bet she's secretly a ninja--you've got to watch out for the wiry ones.
I can't pick on my Program Coordinator because she's the one who makes me look professional and competent and I need her on my side. (She's also wiry and cute and probably a ninja.)
I guess that leaves the temp from the the local university. Yeah... Tyranny without fear of reprisal. Kicking little puppies and pigeons. That sounds about my speed.

And getting back to Lianne, she was telling me about these TBS commercials promoting Lord of the Rings when she came to town for Gigi's wedding. Darlings, I've got tears in my eyes and a tummy cramp from laughing. The first two are my favourite, but the third deserves an honorable mention, I think.

White Horse:

http://tbs.com/broadband/videoplayer/0,,70640,00.html

Secret Lovers:

http://tbs.com/broadband/videoplayer/0,,70636,00.html

It Sucks to be Frodo:

http://tbs.com/broadband/videoplayer/0,,70621,00.html

I'm going to show this to EVERYBODY over the next two weeks for sure. This will be worse than Nunchaku Man.

The truth of the matter is..

that there are so many worries pressing on my mind that I can't even begin to let one of them out. I'm afraid that if I do, the rest will pour out and I'll get swamped. I feel as though if I can only keep the lid on them, it'll buy me time to find a way to manage them singly. So sadly, in the meantime, you get silly stories about cute dancer boys.

God, I wish I could still afford therapy. I feel as though I'm living on credit. And if you know anything about my credit card, you know that's not good.

Aloha!

I'm back in town for a few days, desperately trying to cudgel my brain into some kind of activity for the sake of work. And not being entirely successful about it.

I'm completely knackered, I just never can sleep well away from home, and combined with the late nights of gigging, I'm in a fog. But anyway, all's well with me.
What's up with you?

I met the cast of Aladdin: The Musical over the weekend in Niagara Falls. Lovely people who by chance caught our show on Saturday. Most of the band went to see their show the next day (I was wiped out and not feeling altogether well, more's the pity) and later that night the cast came back to see us perform again. Loads of fun. Great people, so fun to hang around with. I'm almost always anti-social between sets, but I made an exception for them. And let me tell you, you never saw a more good-looking group of people congregated in one place. And Lord have mercy, could they ever dance! When I was singing Disco Inferno, they spontaneously erupted into this killer choreography together on the dance floor, and I felt like a movie star. You know, like in Goldmember when Beyoncé's workin' it on the dance floor and somehow the whole club is moving harmoniously together? Yeah, that was me, sadly, minus the afro and fabulous gold dress, but with the big legs and booty intact. It was all good.

I tell you, one lovely young man in particular busted a move on the dance floor that made me forget my lyrics in the middle of my song. Yes, it was embarrassing, but on the other hand, I defy any red-blooded woman to keep her wits about her in such circumstances.

Well, I guess that will be all for now, next week I'll be in Atlantic City again, with more tales to regale you with.
Love and kisses, baybees!

I'm not dead yet...

Just busy.

Work's been good, although I could be more productive. I've been braiding my hair and Stephanie's hair, for the past two weeks. First I unbraided and rebraided my hair, and then I did hers. Let me tell you, my biceps have been aching since then. And now I'm in Niagara Falls singing at the casino again. (Although not this very second.) Good clean fun. More details to come later.

Loving you!

Today was a scary day.

Can I tell you? So much drama.
I'm actually having a bit of trouble typing because my hands are starting to shake again.

As you may already know, we're four days into the summer intensive theatre program over here at Youthworks. Today, during the lunch break, as I was returning to the building from the nearby food court, four of my students (all girls aged 10-15) were walking about thirty feet ahead of me. They passed by a man, who started calling out after them, and then proceeded to follow them. The girls were so great, they didn't freeze up, or dawdle or engage him in conversation, they kept their heads--they took one look at him and bolted together towards the building. They outstripped him, and so he began to shout obscenities after them and proceeded to hump the nearest tree and shout the things he'd like to do to them.

I felt this burst of adrenaline: fear and more predominantly anger. It was as though there was a five second delay between my reason and my reactions. All I felt was: Protect! Stop him! Fight! I know I wasn't reasonable because the man was huge, he had a good sixty pounds and a half foot over me. It was just this sense that he was a coward or mean spirited to try to pick on little kids. There was just something about the image that enraged me, to see this big white man harassing little black girls.

I ran up to him and started hollering at him: You shut up! Stay away from my kids! What's the matter with you? Don't you ever come anywhere near here again! You're not a human being! Go away right now!
That's when I realised that he was mentally disturbed or intoxicated, because he wasn't making any sense at all in what he was saying to me. Suffice to say, most of it doesn't bear repeating, and I've already begun to block it out of my memory. I can't handle it.

But he backed down, and so I ran after my students and accompanied them up the elevator to the office. They told me then that they recognized him, because security guards at the food court had already ejected him from the building. (I'm not sure if that happened that same day, or earlier in the week, they weren't clear about that.) And the youngest girl told me that something similar had happened to her this year as she was going home from school. It breaks my heart, the poor thing. But they were safe, unhurt, and didn't seem to be in any way traumatised; basically, they were no more fazed by the situation than it warranted. They laughed it off, and stored it upfor their annals as an anecdote to tell their friends.

Five minutes later, he came back upstairs into the office looking for them. All of the students were there having lunch, so they called out that he had come back and was headed for the emergency exit. All I could think was that if I didn't do something right then, they'd never feel safe, and I ran for my cell phone and chased him down the stairs, dialling 911 at the same time. I was telling the operator the situation when halfway down the stairs, he heard me speaking, turned back and came at me. Just as he pushed me, two of my colleagues were already running downstairs and caught up with us. Luckily, one of my colleagues is a big burly black guy, and the other is a little wiry girl with the spirit of a pit bull when she's roused. So while I'm talking to 911 and the police, telling them what's happening, he's shouting at us, and keeps making lunges at me. We herded him down the stairs and out into the street. Again, none of his talk bears repeating, and in any case, he was hardly making much sense.

Once outside, he threatened to come back to the building and cut off my foot and set the building on fire. Since the police were so slow in coming, I stayed on the cell with the operator and we kept watch over him. It was really unsettling because he wasn't going away, he kept weaving back and coming towards us, but it was a two steps forward, one step back kind of thing. He meandered around the neighbourhood, and even tried to break into peoples' homes. Not to get away I think, because he always remained in view.

But more than that, I just couldn't let him out of my sight. What if the police couldn't find him? What if he came back? Finally, the police came, we identified him, they apprehended him, and they promised to come back and to take our statements in ten to fifteen minutes.

As they were loading the guy into the back of the cruiser, he started shouting again and looking back over at me. Once he was safely inside the cruiser, I started thinking: What am I going to tell all the parents? How could I tell them what happened? How could I have let this happen? Why did I confront him? It was my fault that he came back after us and followed us to the building. What if something had happened to the kids? Are they even safe with me as a teacher? Maybe if I'd have left him alone, he would have just gone away.

When the police left, we started walking back to the building, and for the first time, it registered: I felt his hands pushing me in the chest again, and I cracked. All of the fear rolled over me, washing down my face and into my stomach and back up to the top of my head and then my feet and hands got so cold. That was so scary. What if I had shown even a little bit of weakness? What if Bruno and Naima hadn't come down the stairs at exactly that moment? Maybe things would have been worse. It started to get loud in my ears, and I had to push it out, push it away.

Thank God for coping mechanisms, and that mine tends towards activity, to productivity. I still had kids and colleagues to look after. (Well, not so much the latter, but I needed some purpose to cling to.) Everything became all about keeping the workshop going, sheltering the kids from the incident, keeping things going as normally as possible. Thankfully another one of my colleagues had remained upstairs with the students, and so I sent Bruno to go upstairs to them, reassure the students and start up the classes right away.

There was no way I was going back into the classroom until I had gotten myself sufficiently calmed down. There was absolutely no need to be a hero or to prideful, as though the workshop couldn't go on without me. I just didn't want to scare the kids, I didn't want it to become all about me, you know? I went upstairs, got some photo I.D. and planned the course of action to take for the next three hours with my boss.

Then I went back downstairs to wait for the police and give my statement to them. It was weird, all of a sudden, it seemed like every man that passed by weighed 250 pounds and was wearing a green shirt. No, seriously, you'd think there was convention or something, like there was a homing signal beckoning every man fitting that description in the city of Montreal to come and pass by the building where I was waiting.

Another police officer pulled up to take my statement. He invited me into the cruiser to write down all the information while he waited for another officer to come and bring him more forms. And it crossed my mind that for the first time, I was going to step into a police cruiser. And I was for some reason embarassed and ashamed to have to do so, even though I hadn't done anything wrong. All I could think was: how does this look, a black woman stepping into a police car? (I sat in the front seat.)

Thank God he had air conditioniting, because I kept having hot flashes. Anyway, we all gave our statements, I went upstairs to call the girls' parents and make sure they got picked up from the workshop. It's amazing what you can do when you have to, to be calm and reassuring because someone else needs you to be, when all you want to do is go curl up in a ball, bawl, and throw up (in no particular order). I mean, the girls were fine, very calm and unfazed at the moment, but what if it hit them later on tonight, or tomorrow? So they needed to be prepared to talk it through with the kids. I felt horrible: all of their parents were worried about their kids, and of course I felt guilty about the whole thing. And then we had to call all of the parents and let them know what happened.

Not a fun thing for a gal who hates and avoids confrontations and such. I'm the proverbial ostrich, normally. But I learned today that that's only the case it it concerns just me. I don't know how you parents do it. That terror, that protective instinct...it's just so overwhelming and overpowering. And you live with that latent current running thorugh your veins 24/7. I'm more convinced than ever that I could never have kids of my own, because I'll always have that running inside of me now. I never want to have to feel that burst again--agh, I don't know what I feel. I'm grateful for that instinct to have kicked in, but that power is a scary thing, that feeling that you would charge like a bull and destroy someone. I want it out of my body.

Anyway, although the experience was highly unpleasant, there are so many providential things to consider. First of all, I had a great staff on hand to hold down the fort. I was done teaching my sections for the day and had other workshop leaders who could take over for me while I was dealing with all the legal, administrative, and emotional stuff, and neither the kids nor the schedule were disrupted.

Second of all, that man was obviously sick and in need of help--crying out for it, I think, otherwise, why didn't he just run away as fast as he could? And because he assaulted me and issued death threats, the police had sufficient grounds to book him, and I had sufficient grounds to press criminal charges and request a restraining order so that the kids can be safe. Because of the criminal charges, they were able to pick him up and legally procure for him a psychiatric evaluation to see if he was competent to stand trial. One way or another, he'll get the help he needs. The policeman called me back and told me that the man is in custody and is going to appear in court tomorrow morning.

Third, I'm grateful that the situation kicked in protective instincts and the adrenaline to see things through to the end, and fairly quickly. There's something to experience in facing down an aggressor that is liberating--no, restorative. When you face down a threat and challenge it, push through your fear to push back, at least you feel as though you've at least done something, if not your best. I feel as though I've had a personal victory, that I will not be a victim of fear and intimidation. I'm not helpless. I didn't just let someone run roughshod over me, I didn't roll over, curl up, and cower. The survival instinct tells you that you have the right to be here, to be alive, that you have worth.

When I think about all the ways things could have gone so badly, I'm grateful that things happened the way that they did. Everything was contained. Everyone is safe. We did do the right thing. I have enough work on my plate today and over the next couple of weeks to keep me busy and functioning so that I don't collapse, until I have time to properly process it. I'm not hurt. Well, nothing that won't heal.
I think a sleeping pill is in order tonight. And junk food. Don't you?